


breathe

by nantoast



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Getting Together, M/M, Underage Drinking, college freshman keiji, i love keiji but i love pain more okay, kuroos just mentioned a couple times but kinda important, parental neglect, this mainly focuses on keiji and bo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5937346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nantoast/pseuds/nantoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"it starts out as anger, but a part of him knows that anger never felt this hollow."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i.

Akaashi stands on the roof of his dorm and thinks about golden eyes.

He thinks about long legs and strong arms. He thinks about the way his practice shorts from his high school volleyball days were baggy and ill fitting and how he had never had that problem.

He thinks about his past captain, as he had since the third years graduated, since the two had lost touch.

It starts out as anger, but a part of him knows that anger never felt this hollow.

xxx

College is rough. He's hours from past friends and high school and, despite a bit of effort, has yet to talk to anyone. He's four months into his college life and his own roommate barely spares a glance, at least, when he's in their room, anyways.

Sleep wasn't coming easily anymore. It hadn't for the majority of his third year, though he was still trying to hopelessly convince himself that it was college doing this to him, not himself.

He tossed and turned most nights and thanked whatever God was out there for having the room below his empty, otherwise he'd keep others awake with his pacing. On the rare nights his room mate bothered to stay in their room, he went up to the roof until exhaustion talked him into going to bed. Sometimes, he'd pace the lounge on ground floor, but that made him paranoid to the idea of someone walking in and questioning why he was in the lounge at three in the morning with a light blue blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

xxx

He wasn't expecting a lot of things that had happened lately.

He wasn't expecting the pretty girl in his English class to turn around on a Friday, hand him a sticky note, and speak through glossed lips. "There's a party tonight. I feel like you'd enjoy it. There's going to be a lot of alcohal." She turned back around, pretty black hair following her movements. He looks down at the note, reading the address a few times.

 _Is that what they think of me?_ he silently asks himself. _They think I'm a drunk?_

He remembers being told by a blushing boy that he looked like an angel, that Akaashi was the most beautiful person they'd ever met. He guesses beauty turns gray with the mind, but he stops when he realizes he's not awake enough to continue his thoughts.

He goes.

It's the beginning of December and the party location isn't too far, so he walks. He doubts he'd be able to drive back, if he did decide to get drunk, anyways. After tonight, he promises himself his non-existent party days will be over.

He's cold and annoyed by the time he reaches the party, but when he walks through the door, a beer is placed in his hands. He follows the arm, seeing the girl from English. She looks sober enough, slanted eyes light and lipstick covered lips pulling into a grin.

"Drink it," she says, making sure he's holding it before she pulls her hand away. He stares at the bottle in distaste.

"I don't drink beer."

Of the few times Akaashi's experienced alcohal, beer has always been a low on his short list. He likes things that burn, because the only time he drinks is to remind himself he's alive, or to make sure that he's not by the end of the night.

She smirks and grabs his hand, leading him into the kitchen. There's rows of alcohal bottles placed on the table before him, each a different brand, though the more popular choices have a few bottles. He's not sure what most are but he spots vodka, something he knows burns and something he knows makes him feel alive and on the verge of death at the same time.

"Pick your poison," she says, thrusting a red plastic cup into his hands. He blinks, looks over his choices again, and grabs for the vodka. She snickers, but he ignores her and opens the cap.

He takes a hesitant drink from his cup, one sip turns into two, then five, then he's getting more. It's almost sweet as it hits his tongue but turns bitter as it hits his throat. It's not so much as a burn as it is a sting, making him feel torn between wanting to gag and wanting to toss his cup back and swallow the contents.

His mind fogs and his vision blurs and he ends up on the dorm roof, though doesn't know how. He's pushing the door leading from the staircase to the roof open and stumbling forward, walking towards the edge and peering out.

He can see the majority of his college and part of the town its located in from here. The nights clear and cold, like himself, though the numbness in his limbs is from an entirely different reason.

He remembers all the sappy romance books he'd read throughout the years and recalls the scenes where a character takes their first or twenty first sip of alcohal. It's described to burn, though the author rarely goes into detail as to what drink it is. The character gets clumsy and loose, slurring words only after their first cup. Then the author describes a warmth that flows throw the characters body, lights them up from the inside, to where cold no longer affects them. 

_It's a lie_ , he concludes. Alcohal never made him feel warm, only amplify the cool wind that rakes over his skin and tossles his hair. He becomes hypersentive to everything around him, but the world's covered in a slight haze, so he never applies his newly found senses.  His head pulses on the left side, a forming headache trying to dampen his high.

He's forgotten golden eyes and salt and pepper hair long ago, mind no longer racing over the detailed body he hasn't seen in over a year. He breathing, finally; its jumpy and rushed, but he can feel the rise of his chest and feel the push of air leaving his lungs through his nose. His shoulders sink and he throws his head back, letting out an uncharacteristic laugh. 

_It's the vodka,_ somewhere far, far back in his brain says. _You won't feel like this tomorrow, so don't get used to it._

He doesn't listen to his brain. 

There's a ledge that goes around the roof, three feet high and about four feet in width. When sober, he won't go near the ledge, scarred a missed step would end it for himself. But now, with his newfound, alcohal-driven confidence, he heaves himself onto the ledge, standing and allowing a wide grin to spread across his face. 

He only drinks to remind himself he's alive, or to make sure he's not by the end of the night.

He's alive, right now.

xxx 

He's not alive the next morning, though. 

The suns rising by the time he gets back into his dorm room, not noticing the lump under a blanket on the other bed. He kicks his shoes and pants off, as well as his jacket, and sleeps for nine hours in his boxers and tee shirt. 

He wakes up around four-ish, possibly five, and groans. He burries his face into his pillow and tries to will away the hangover, but thinking seems to make it worse. He wants to harass himself for getting so carried away the night before, but from the memories he gathers, he decides not to. He's running off some kind of adrenaline high just thinking about last night that he forgets the blinds aren't drawn and is reminded of his hangover instantly.

Even though he feels like shit, he _feels_ like he's discovered more about himself in the past twenty four hours than he has in the nineteen years he's floated through life. He feels good, and he feels like everything will be okay.


	2. ii.

The black haired girl became a constant in Akaashi's life.

He didn't know her name, though. She'd probably mentioned it, but his memory isn't the best recently and he never bothered to ask, even when she barrels into his dorm room, chanting "Keiji" as she threw herself onto his room mates bed. She was here more often than he was.

"You want to get hammered tonight? Finals are over~," she hummed, as if he wasn't aware.

Ever since his first college party, he found himself missing the high alcohol had given him. He spent most weekends with her, going to different parties and the occassional club, having to rely on her to get him in because sunken eyes and a young face didn't look close to twenty one.

He mulled over the idea, shaking his head a minute or so later. "I'm going home later and don't want to ride the train buzzed." She pouted.

"You're going to miss the party though! Ren is throwing a _huge_ winter break party for all the students and they're going to have Skyy vodka, Keiji. _Skyy_."

Apparently jealous over Akaashi's taste for vodka, or just having a fear of being one-uped, she had taken to drinking the clear liquid as well. She dulls it with energy drinks though, since she couldn't handle it straight. He couldn't figure out why she would want to be jealous of someone who's drink of choice was vodka when he was jealous of someone who didn't need vodka to feel alive.

"I'd rather not see my parents while hungover," he said bluntly, eyelashes fluttering as he looked at his phone screen.

He'd been dreading the idea of going home to closed doors and indifferent looks and an empty house, but more so dreaded seeing those who he didnt have the energy to stay in contact with. Which was, basically, all of his high school friends.

"Fine," she says, standing from the bed. She makes her way to the door, opening it slowly. "Stay safe, Keiji."

He ignores her. The door clicks as she shuts it and he buries his head in his pillow, resisting the urge to sigh. _You sigh too much,_ she'd tell him, acting as if she knew him. He ignores that, too.

He turns, looks out the window. There's snow on the ground, not much, but enough for the white against the dark shadows to remind him of salt and pepper hair and the streetlights to bring forth a memory of gold.

_I should've gone out._

xxx

For the first time in years, Akaashi feels like he should be crying.

He doesn't, though. He hasn't cried in _forever_. But for some reason, as he stands in his childhood bedroom after receiving empty hello's and goodbye's from his parents as they left for work as soon as he arrived home, he feels like he's supposed to cry. But he can't, he won't.

It almost doesn't feel real. His bedroom looks the same as he left it, the only difference being a stack of mail sitting on his desk, all unopened. He drops his suit case to the floor and walks over, touching the wood of the desk before grabbing for the mail. It's mostly junk mail and a few letters from colleges saying it's not too late to apply for the next years classes.

He pauses when he gets halfway through the stack, eyes recognizing the scribbles on the letter that spell out his name and address. He contemplates putting the mail back, to forget he'd even seen the letter.

He opens it.

He skips the actual letter part, eyes falling onto onto the pictures enclosed in the envelope. There's four of them, each holding Bokuto and Kuroo (who had decided on the same college) throughout the seasons. They're painfully happy in each one, bright smiles making Akaashi's chest tighten, and not in the good way. His fingers find the letter, lifting it up to read what the words say.

_Dear Akaashi-_

_I know I'm sending this a bit late, but I hope your third year was great! I heard about the college you got into, good job! I'm sad we lost touch over the past year but you've been busy with school and college, so don't worry about it! The old teams getting back together December 20, since most will be home for break, and I was really hoping you'd come. Some of Nekoma's going to be there, too. Can't wait to see you!_

_-Bokuto Koutarou_

His breath hitches. He briefly remembers it's Thursday, the eighteenth. The letter was sent two months ago, but he's not surprised his parents didn't tell him about it. His parents never tell him anything.

He sets the rest of his mail on the desk and turns the pictures face down, glancing around the room. It's barely noon and sunlight flows through his window, to which he bitterly closes the blinds. He shakes off his pants and climbs into bed, curling into himself and attempting to sleep throughout winter break.

xxx

Akaashi wakes up around five.

He checks his phone, seeing a text from his mother saying they wouldn't be home until late. He drags himself out of bed, remembering the alcohol his parents keep for special occasions in the cabinet. He doesn't get it, though. Instead, he puts on his winter running clothes and goes outside.

It's strange. The suns setting, orange and pink hues lighting the sky. He hasn't been here in nearly five months and his brain doesn't remember his way around completely, instead trusting in his body to remember the turns of his childhood town.

He starts jogging at a brisk pace, shoes stomping on the thin layer of snow on the ground. The cold nips at his nose and fingers and burns his lungs, but it's not as addictive as the sting of vodka or the breeze he feels when he's standing on his dorms roof, sober for once, thinking of how life was fleeting and could end with a simple _push_.

He starts sprinting at some point. Akaashi runs until his legs burn with every pull of his muscles and his throat is raw from the crisp air's attack. He stops, panting slightly, and looks around, and almost immediately wishes he hadn't. Unknowingly, he had just ran the three miles it takes to get from his house to Bokuto's neighborhood. He stares, mind frozen and limbs turning into jelly. He doesn't want to continue but can't bring himself to turn back. He wonders how he must look, a strange man standing in front of someone's neighborhood, not moving.

 _It's not someone's neighborhood_ , he reminds himself, _it's_ his.

When he remembers how to walk, he crosses several streets until he winds up at the closest store, walking towards the back wall where the drinks are. He grabs a water and eyes the energy drinks, knowing they're a health hazard in a bottle as he grabs them.

 _It's not like I was healthy in the first place,_ he thinks as he pulls his wallet from his jacket pocket. He passes a display of various alcohol and briefly ponders using his fake idea the black haired girl had gotten made for him before deciding not to. There's always his parents wine, anyways.

As he's paying for his drinks, he swears he sees a flash of gold from the corner of his eye. He turns sharply, staring through the front window. The sun has set and no ones on the streets right now, all in home with their families. Akaashi wishes he could feel jealously, but he's come to terms with his parents habit long ago and only feels a dull throb.

He exits the store and opens the water, gulping it down and placing the empty bottle in the plastic sack. He decides running home would be too much effort, so he waits at the bus stop and loads the black and white vehicle as it pulls up. There's nearly ten other people on too, but Akaashi averts his eyes and does so until he gets off at his stop.

He steps through the front door of his house and exhales slowly, dropping the energy drinks off onto the counter. He rummages through the cabinet and pulls out a red wine, lips turning down slightly in disgust. He's not find of red but it provides more of a burn than white ever will and the bitter taste reminds him of vodka, so he takes the bottle to his room, not bothering to grab a glass. He doesn't plan on returning it; it'll be his supply while he's stuck here.

He brings the bottle into the shower with him, turning the water on cold to recreate the feeling of the roof as he drinks straight from the bottle. He's pitiful and he knows it.

His phone buzzes a few times, but the fear of who it could be keeps him from checking it. He climbs out of the shower and stares in the mirror, stares for a long time. He hasn't truly looked at himself for probably a year now, knowing his appearance is always along the same line; curly hair, blank eyes, and pale skin.

He's _scared_ of what he sees.

His hair has grown (which isn't a shocker, when he thinks about it), almost to the point where it's more so a curly mess than his usual style. His eyes are so sunken and gray, he's not sure they're his. Dark bags hang under his eyes and his eyelids are a bluish purple, imitating bruises. His skin is still pale, if not a shade or so lighter, and he's skinny; skinnier than before. His bones jut slightly in places they hadn't before, and he's sure the only noticeable difference to others would be that his legs are skinnier, since he'd started wearing sweatshirts a lot more.

What he cares most about though, out of all of the flaws he's filled with, is he's no longer Akaashi Keiji. Everything that the blushing boy had described and said made Akaashi unique, were gone. His body, his hair, his eyes, were no longer what he had seen when he cried in Akaashi's arms the day of graduation.

He wasn't himself anymore, more so a shell.

For the first time in years, Keiji cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we get to see Bo next chapter yEET


	3. iii.

His parents aren't home when he wakes up, which he is silently thankful for.

He walks around the house in his underwear and sweatshirt, opening and closing the fridge before deciding he isn't hungry. He draws a bath but can't build the energy to get undressed, so he leaves the tub full and lays in bed again. He grabs his phone, checking his missed calls and texts, hoping it's just his parents and the black haired girl.

_Missed Calls (2)_

_From: Mother_

_From: Skyy_

He lets out a sigh of relief, swiping his finger towards his texts. He humors himself momentarily over the girls name in his phone before clicking on the messages app.

_Missed Texts (6)_

_From: Skyy_

_I asked you to text me when you got home, but whatever. Rens party was awesome btw !!_

_From: Skyy_

_I hope you know I'm not actually mad at you haha. text me soon Keiji !_

_From: Skyy_

_Just got home. my room feels so weird. is that normal or is it just me?_

_From: Skyy_

_You're worrying me, Keiji. you know I don't worry about things. text me when you get this._

_From: Konoha_

_    Why didn't you give Bokuto your new number? anyways, we're meeting in the old gym at six on the 20th.  _

_ From: Skyy _

_    Please text me back Keiji.  _

His breath is shaky as he deletes the message from Konoha. He's thankful he's too drained to reach for the bottle next to his bed, otherwise he'd probably drink away his memory of the text. He types a quick text to the girl, apologizing. 

_ To: Skyy _

_    I'm sorry for not replying sooner, my phone was dead. My room feels weird, too. _

He shuts his phone off and with newfound courage, he drags himself into the bathroom again. After undressing, he's exhausted by the time he steps into the tub, resting his head against the rim as the water rises with the addition of his body. He closes his eyes and allows himself to take a short nap. 

When he wakes up, the waters cold and his fingers are wrinkly. He runs a bar of soap of his body and rubs shampoo into his hair, not bothering with conditioner. After he's done, he wraps the towel around his body and faces the mirror, pulling at the wet pieces of his hair. He pulls open a drawer and grabs a pair of scissors, holding a small lock and letting the blade close in on it.

The first cut makes something throb in his chest, and as he grabs another, he realizes its excitement. He hadn't paid much mind to it before, but he figures he's been using his hair as a safety blanket for the last four months. He briefly remembers Kuroo telling him that Kenma keeps his hair long as a sense of security, adding that when Kenma's upset, he ducks his head and allows his hair to hide him. Akaashi'd unknowingly taken the example from the other, and it doesn't strike him until a lot of his hair is littering the bathroom floor and sink that his security is now gone. 

His hairs short, the shortest its been in nearly nine years, when he had started picking his hairstyle. It's a bit shorter than it was in his second year, the pieces curling more now. 

He ducks his head under the tap water flowing from the sink and cleans off the extra hair, drying it with his towel before slipping on a clean pair of boxers, joggers, and a tee shirt. He brushes his teeth and puts on deodorant, not sure when he had decided to go out until he's putting on his jacket and tennis shoes. He bargains with himself a bit before grabbing an energy drink off the table, noticing his parents hadn't touched them. 

He steps out of his house and despite the only difference being his hair, he feels _new_. He feels like the past year and a half hadn't happened and that he's still in his second year of high school, that he still has his friends and his parents are still around, though not much more than they are now. 

He walks around for a while, not entirely sure why he had felt the sudden need to go out. He remains conscious this time so he doesn't accidentally wander back to Bokuto's neighborhood, though feels as if he couldn't do that again if he tried. He pops the tab on the energy drink and takes a sip, lips twitching in disappointment at the lack of sting. 

He's unsure of what he's supposed to do now, so he walks towards a park that's nearby. He takes a seat on one of the empty swings, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He's got a text from the girl and opens it, smiling softly at her response. 

_ From: Skyy _

_    So he lives, eh? you should know better than to worry me, you lil shit. and ikr? I think it's something about being in college, when you come home everything is weird as balls and a little off. think how weird the dorms are gonna feel after breaks over!  _

He humors her before closing his messages, opening one of the unused social media apps his friends had made him download to keep up with him. His profiles are blank, only holding his name, past highschool, and current college. His profile picture is a group photo of the volleyball team from his second year, though he remembers that he wasn't the one who had set his pictures, but can't remember who was. He stares at them in slight awe, not recognizing the boy in the picture. 

He clicks on his notifications and his chest aches. He's got tweets sent to him, as well as tagged photos on Instagram, and even a few snapchats. He doesn't open the snapchats, though, because he doesn't want to alert anyone of his sudden awakening after being silent for so long, instead choosing to lurk on his other apps. It takes a while until he remembers this isn't how he should be prepping himself for the following day, but it takes so much energy to get up from the swing that he almost wishes he hadn't.

xxx 

His fingers twitch anxiously as he walks to his old highschool. His outfit is nearly identical to the one from the following day and he hopes that he doesn't look as much of a train wreck as he feels. He keeps trying to run a hand through his hair and letting his breath hitch before remembering that most of it's gone now. He thinks about turning back towards home and acting as if he'd never gotten the letter or text, but remember the pep talk the black haired girl had given him earlier that morning after being informed of his situation. 

_"So you're having anxiety over seeing your old volleyball team?"_ She asks, voice hazy over the line. _"I didn't know you played volleyball."_

_It's not that simple_ , he wants to say, but instead mutters, "Why does it matter?" 

She hums. _"It doesn't, I just didn't know. You should go, though. Maybe this'll be like some kind of exposure therapy, and I won't need to get you drunk to smile."_

This time, he does tell her its not that simple.

She pauses. When she speaks again, her words are quiet and hesitent. _"You're kind of an open book when you're drunk, you know."_ His eyes narrow and he waits for her to continue. After a few silent seconds, she does. _"I know you're in love with a guy. You called him the sun and cried talking about him once, that time you got plastered and I had an interview the next day but went out with you anyways because, God Keiji, you scare me sometimes. And I know I shouldn't be talking since I'm the one that turned you into a drinking machine when I invited you out that first time, but I just want you to be happy and the only time you are is when you're drunk and that's fucked up, okay. You're in love but you won't let yourself believe it and if you keep going this way you're going to hurt yourself."_ She starts crying halfway through her rant, ending it with a twisted sob. He doesn't realize he's crying, too, until he feels a tear hit the back of his free hand. He lets out a shaky breath and stares wide eyed at the wall in front of him, letting her words resonate through his chest and crack his ribs. He feels like he's just been suckerpunched but at the same time feels like he can finally _breathe_. 

He promises to go and makes her promise to stop worrying about him and they both promise to stop drinking as much. He can hear the smile in her tone as she tells him bye, and he feels like he's dropped ten pounds when realizing that he doesn't have to do this alone.

When he nears the gym, he's alone.

He feels his breathing quicken slightly at the familiar sound of sneakers on wooden floors and volleyballs smacking the ground. He hesitantly slides the door open and stares, wide eyed for the second time that day. He sees his old team and random members from Nekoma and it takes his a few seconds to remember to breathe. He hears his name being yelled, but it doesn't register until he's being knocked out of his spot and practically thrown into the air, strong arms wrapping around his abdomen. His breath is knocked out of him and his hands grip at firm shoulders, nails digging in slightly. He hears laughter and feels the stares before he sees it, opening his eyes and catching everyone else's. People are walking up to him, and he hears someone tell Bokuto to _set him down already, jeez._

His feet find the wood floor again and he almost falls, being held up with a strong pair of arms. He turns to stare at the owner of said arms and pushes back the urge to cry. People are touching his hair, patting his back, and making comments on his lost weight and appearance but he only pays mind to his old captain. 

His hairs gotten longer, no longer slicked into an owlish style but pulled into a loose bun. Gray highlights are mixed in now, making the transition between the white and black more even. Golden eyes are ablaze, wide and full of energy as he stares down at Akaashi and he suddenly feels helplessly small.

Arms lock around him and after his shock is driven from his body by a group hug, he's being begged into setting again, _just for old times sake,_ Bokuto says. Akaashi doesn't tell him he doesn't need convincing, instead shrugging off his jacket and setting his phone on top of it.

"You sure have gotten scrawny!" Bokuto announced, probably without realizing it. "Nothing a few sets can't fix! I gotta build you back up, 'Kaashi!" He nods and focuses on the ball being passed towards him, choosing to ignore the fear of _what if I forgot how to set._

His fingertips make contact with the ball and whatever's left of his muscles seem to act on pure instinct because seconds later a loud slap is resonating throughout the gym as well as the excited cheers of Bokuto. He smiles slightly, feeling a sting between his eyes and wishing he hadn't become so reclusive. He'd missed this, missed it more than he had missed vodka after his first college party.

The night wears on and before they know if, its nearly one in the morning and they're being ushered out of the gym. Bokuto pulls Akaashi's sleeve and the two wait until everyone's gone before he's being pulled to sit on the curb of the street. Akaashi looks forward, suddenly self conscious and remembering the girls words from earlier. 

_ I know you're in love with a guy.  _

He suppresses a shiver when he feels fingertips grazing the back of his hand softly, moving his hand and allowing the fingers to intertwine with his. He hopes Bokuto takes the blush on his cheeks as a flush from the cold, but knows he's too smart for that.

"I wasn't kidding when I said I've gotta build you back up," he says quietly. Akaashi turns his head to look at Bokuto, instantly wishing he hadn't. He swears he hears his ribs crack from the pressure Bokuto's broken expression inflicts on him and hears himself take in a sharp breath. Bokuto's thumb runs over his comfortingly. "I didn't expect you to stop working when I left. In all honesty, I thought I was going to be the one to shut down without you. But _God_ , Keiji." The use of his given name in such a heartbroken way is what finally causes Akaashi's chest to cave in, and he's suddenly being pulled into strong arms and pushing his face against Bokuto's shirt. 

His body shakes with a mixture of the cold and his sobs but as he inhales Bokuto's scent and feels warm arms wrap around him securely, he now understands what _home_ and _love_ are supposed to feel like.

xxx 

Bokuto keeps his promise. He stops by Akaashi's house the next morning, holding a bag full of random breakfast foods and chocolate milk and doesn't even bat an eye at his messy hair, boxers, and sweatshirt. The two eat in his room and Bokuto pretends to not notice the wine bottle next to the bed (Akaashi can proudly say it hasn't been touched in nearly three days). They catch up on school and life and Bokuto doesn't question Akaashi's parents whereabouts, leaving the topic be like he used to, like he always had. Akaashi declines his offer for go jogging together so the two stay at his house, wrapped up in Akaashi's comforter and watching owl documentaries like they had during highschool. 

Akaashi swears that Bokuto saying his given name will be the death of him and it takes a bit of prodding for Akaashi to agree to call him Koutarou from now on. He lets his eyelids slip closed at the feeling of warm lips on his forehead and decides the only way he wants to breathe is if Koutarou is with him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, its over. 
> 
> I hope you all liked reading this as much as I did writing it. reading angst always makes me so tired but I feel always good afterwords, haha.


End file.
